that shrouded her eyes, and fell like rain over her
garments.

Oh, love and guilt, how dreadful is your struggle in the human heart!
Like Satan after his first transgression, the divine principle, still
retains somewhat of its sovereign power and dignity, and appears little
less

"Than archangel ruined."

"Poor Mary!" sighed Juliet, "your sin has indeed found you out! Thank
heaven, the man I love is not guilty of this moral murder. Oh, Anthony,
how I have injured you! I ought to have known that you were utterly
incapable of a crime like this!"

"Leave me, Miss Juliet," said Mary, regaining her self-possession;
"leave me to my own sorrow. Oh, I wish I could die and forget it all!
But I dare not die. Hateful as life has become, I dare not look upon
death. Do not weep for me--your tears will drive me mad! Do not look at
me so--it makes me hate you. Do not ask me to go to the Lodge, for I
will not go!" she cried, springing to her feet, and clenching her hands.
"I am my own mistress! You cannot make me obey you. If I choose to bid
defiance to the world, and live as I please, it is no business of yours.
You shall not--you dare not attempt to control me!" And brushing past
Miss Whitmore, she was soon lost among the trees. Juliet drew a freer
breath when she was gone, and turning round beheld her father.

"What are you doing here in the rain, Juliet? your habit is soaked with
water. And where is Godfrey?"

"Take me home, papa!" said Juliet, flinging herself into his arms, and
sobbing upon his shoulder. "Godfrey is gone for ever. I have been
dreadfully frightened; but I will tell you all when we get home. I
cannot tell you here!"

CHAPTER XVI.

Whate'er thou hast to say, speak boldly out;
Confront me like a man--I shall not start.
Nor shiver, nor turn pale. My hand is firm,
My heart is firmer still; and both are braced
To meet the hour of danger--S.M.

About a mile and a half from the village of Ashton, at the head of an
obscure cross road, seldom traversed but by wagoners and their teams, or
the day laborer going to and fro from the neighboring farms to his work,
there stood, a little back in a pathway field, a low public house, whose
signboard merely contained the following blunt announcement to mark the
owner's calling,

"Table Beer
Sold Here."

The master of this obscure house of entertainment (which from its lonely
situation might have been termed anything but publi